All warfare is based on deception

"The orcs see us as weaklings and cowards. Scurrying away in terror at the sight of danger, not able to face them in a true fight, always fleeing and scavenging. They prey on us because we are like cattle to them. They hound us, snap at us, and feast on our bones because we won't defend ourselves."

Looking hard into your half-sister's eyes, you say, "It is time to change that."

"But that is what we are, brother!" Lishau shouted, "We are NOT strong! We are NOT brave! And Orc can cut down a lone goblin without even trying! Our only strength is our NUMBERS! That is how we were born, that is all we have!"

"The only reason why we are afraid is because our fathers were afraid. And their fathers before them. All because, one day in the past, they had lost a war. They lost and were so badly beaten that they tricked themselves into thinking it was supposed to be this way. That we are born to be weaklings. That we are born to be used and abused by bigger races. That we are supposed to always outnumber our enemies. That our only destiny is to be cut down by some mere farmboy!"

"I won't accept that how we are born will decide how we will die." You storm out of your tent, beckoning your sister to follow you. "You're right, sister, but not for the reasons you think. Goblins are weak and they are cowardly. But only because we BELIEVE we are weak and cowardly."

"Sometimes, Lishau, to win a war..." You say. "We have to first deceive ourselves."

The first phase of your plan was simple, yet also the most difficult to overcome: The Gurmukh orcs must learn to fear you.

As it stood, they would have surely engaged against your tribe at the slightest moment, even in unfavorable circumstances. You might've won, but it would have taken generations to recover. But if they were wary, if there was even a chance that they might lose, the Orcs might choose to stay in their camp. Wait for an opportunity. And that was the ideal situation to you.

Obviously, no orc would be afraid of a goblin. The Gurmukh numbered in the hundreds, but they were frequently dispersed. Small bands, numbering only a dozen or so, roamed the steppe. Looking for food. Looking for slaves. And your plan involved finding those bands, and crushing them with overwhelming numbers.

But not your regular Goblin-numbers. Your plan meant to bring a new definition to 'overwhelming'. Your father would have been proud.

One-and-a-half thousand goblins against a handful of orcs. All screaming, hurtling towards them, weapons brandished, mouths slavering. You could only imagine gleefully how the orcs must have felt, knowing they were outnumbered a hundred-to-one. Your attacks were swift. They were cruel. And they were complete.

You had your men paint themselves blue with ink, so that they could be seen clearly from the distance. A huge, blue swarm of goblins. Over the next two weeks, you struck out at the small orc bands and began to gain a fearsome reputation from survivors. They started calling you "Blue Scum", but you took that as a compliment as you cut their heads off.

Eventually, as you knew it would, the Gurmukh orcs had enough.